


The Art of Miscommunication

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Confessions, Courtship, Flowers, M/M, Original Character(s), Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roses are supremely red, and violets deepest blue; and Erestor desperately loves him, if only Glorfindel knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Influx

Erestor was in the gardens, as was not unusual after the dinner bell. Whether he’d eaten or not, he’d find his way to the gardens sooner or later to walk in the fragrant, beautiful places of Imladris. On this occasion, he’d brought along a favorite book and he simply wandered until his feet told him stop. Finding himself before a tall tree with a bench at its base, surrounded by roses growing in a semicircle around it, Erestor smiled. He’d been here before -- in fact, it was a favorite spot of his -- and he happily sat upon the weathered seat to take advantage of the remaining daylight.

Thusly he remained for some time, having long fallen into the world of the text when he was suddenly jolted out of it again by raucous laughter.

He looked up, but the shouts were from beyond a wall of tall hedges. Erestor looked about, realizing that the golden hour had just begun. If you were an artist, the golden hour before sunset was ideal for sketching. For one hour, the light’s angle did not change. Erestor did not consider himself an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but his eye for beauty was no less than any Elf’s, and he thought this time of day to be mysterious, even haunting, and certainly beautiful. For some minutes he studied the roses and how they grew and smiled at their loveliness and if he was not mistaken, they smiled back.

He returned to his book.

Some time later, he was again drawn out of his reading, only this time he was not sure why. Erestor blinked and then peeked over the top his book to see gray leather boots. He followed the well-defined lines of soft, gray leggings up impossibly long legs to a practical leather belt where hung a huge sword. A blue doublet over a white shirt covered the expanse of a broad chest and lay open to reveal the slope of a tanned neck. Erestor could not help but stare at the most handsome face to ever grace any being. Generous lips modeled the smallest of smiles beneath a finely shaped nose. The fine cheekbones were high but not exotically so. The most remarkable golden hair, like ripples of silk or gossamer gold, framed the whole, but it was the eyes that captured him in that moment and forever after. The eyes, wide and open and honest, blue and green and grey, wise and young and free. The eyes spoke a tale that Erestor wanted to learn. But he could only stare at the incomprehensible creature standing before him, wondering in that moment if two such wholly unlike creatures could ever understand one another.

Then the golden-haired, sapphire-eyed beauty smiled.

Erestor had never felt more undone.

“I am called Glorfindel.” The stranger bowed.

Erestor desperately held back the shiver that seized him at that graceful gesture of refined elegance contained in such a huge, heavenly being. Erestor desperately forced himself to swallow, despite the buttery tones of the deep voice that set his heart to hammering. Erestor desperately tried not to trip over his own feet when he stood.

The dark-haired Elf did stand, laying his book beside him. He inclined his head and did not smile. (Erestor made a point of never smiling in public.) Instead, he walked to the side and laid his hand upon a large, red rose. Like this Glorfindel, the flower was incomparably beautiful, perfectly formed, and larger than life. Erestor slid his nail across the stem, breaking it from its stalk. He turned to look at those curious blue eyes and carefully plucked each and every thorn from the flower before advancing and offering it to the marvelous creature who had appeared in the Imladris garden. “Welcome.”

Glorfindel nodded and accepted the thornless rose in his large hand.

The dark-haired Elf stared hard with those fathomless black eyes at the newcomer. “I am Erestor.”

= = = = =

By the time dinner had passed and the evening dance had come and gone, Glorfindel felt as though he’d endured a whirlwind. If this was the general pace of life in Imladris, it was going to take some getting used to.

At the moment, he’d found a quiet window seat at the end of the main dining chamber, just before the great doors that led to the Hall of Fire. He’d settled himself here in the shadowed corner, content to watch several young Elves move about the place, rearranging the furniture for tomorrow’s morning meal amid soft jokes and subdued laughter. He’d watched the crowd move in elegant fashion to the Hall of Fire for a continued evening of enjoyment, graciously turning down Lord Elrond’s invitation to join them.

Hurried footsteps caught his attention and Glorfindel turned away from the window seat to see a very fair Elf with moon-pale hair streaming behind him with flapping rust yellow robes. He carried a medium-sized harp under his arm and was making a beeline for the double doors.

Glorfindel smiled, thinking the youth had made himself late, but then the fair Elf halted before him, turning leaf-green eyes to Glorfindel where he’d curled up in the little nook. The golden-haired Elf could not erase the slight look of shock on his features as those incredibly deep green eyes met his.

This was no youth, not with such ancient and knowing eyes, though the rest of his appearance would never show it. Glorfindel nodded.

The Elf returned the gesture. “You must be Glorfindel,” he said. “The whole of Imladris is whispering with word of the golden-haired warrior who walked through the gates as the sun rose in the east.”

“I wonder what they speak of,” Glorfindel answered. “As you have many visitors here at the Last Homely House. And why they call me a warrior I do not know. I carry a sword in my travels, as do many, but that makes me neither soldier nor rebel.”

“But few carry so fine a sword, nor have the look of a warrior, which I am obliged to say you do, sir. Do you forget the braids you have worn in your hair all day?”

Glorfindel returned the tentative smile from this Elf. “I own that I did, though I give little thought to my hair.”

“Shocking, for one so named. Ah, but I forget myself.” He bowed again, lowering green eyes. “I am Lindir, a minstrel. The Chief Minstrel, if I must confess it, though my punctuality would never prove such a thing.” He blushed a bit. “But as I am tardy already, I see no reason to rush now. And I find myself too forward, but I plainly have to ask: why do you not join the others in the Hall? There are few pleasures so wondrous as the calming quality of the music and the fire.”

Glorfindel straightened, lowering his feet to the floor to face the minstrel. “I must admit I find your forwardness refreshing, Lindir. As to your question, I must also admit that after my solitary travels I find life in this House too . . . hasty. Though since I have not sought my rooms, I suppose I wish only for peace and not for solitude.”

“I wish I could offer my companionship,” Lindir said with a bit of a bow, “however, I am already late, as you know. But I do hope to spend many hours in your company. If you are not engaged tomorrow, perhaps we might take a turn about the House, or the gardens if the sky lies tonight and it does not rain on the morrow.”

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. “I would like that.”

Then Lindir’s eyes alighted on the rose in Glorfindel’s hand. “My goodness, wherever did you find such a specimen?”

Glorfindel looked down, as if only realizing the red rose was still in his position. “Twas an oddity of an Elf who presented me with it just this evening after dinner.”

Lindir smiled. “I confess I am not surprised. Erestor certainly is an oddity. He is known here for many things, his giving of flowers among them.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. Not a day goes by he does not present someone with some weed or other. It is rather his token here. He uses his words little and smiles less, but he speaks in other ways, if one cares to listen.” Lindir patted a small gathering of oats hanging down from his belt. “He gave me these only this morning.” Lindir smiled at the red rose clasped delicately in large, strong hands. “That is doubtless the first of many gifts from Erestor, probably the most he ever offers anyone in a way of welcome, friendship, affection, or anything else. But listen to me, jabbering away about my friend without any sort of leave whatever -- Erestor never did approve of gossip -- unsurprising as he seems to disapprove of speaking altogether unless it proves absolutely necessary. But I am over-late and should be on my way. If you are free, do meet me here tomorrow after the noon meal.”

“I look forward to it,” Glorfindel said as Lindir again bowed and then slipped through the double doors to the Hall.

Glorfindel watched him go, his head cocked to the side in amusement. “I do wonder if all Imladris is filled with such marvels as Erestor and Lindir.”

“Doubtless it is.”

Glorfindel spun about to see a gorgeous maiden with flowing silver hair to her waist in an ice blue gown belted with silver leaves. Wide eyes whose color mirrored that of her gown blinked happily at him. Then she bowed, smiling winningly. “Glorfindel,” she said in a voice that was bell-like and beautiful, “Though I am late in offering my greetings, I should like to do it just the same: Welcome to Imladris! I am Ninalin. I am maid to the Lady Arwen, as well as Counselor to my Lord Elrond, cook’s assistant, scribe, and on occasion Aide to our Chief Counselor Erestor. Yet despite all of this I find myself often alone and in possession of a good deal of time to waste however I like, especially in such times as these when our Lady is away and Imladris seems to run itself without fault. If you are ever in want of company or a friendly ear or a finger to point the way, I know as much of Imladris as anyone, having helped to lay the stones of its foundation. If I am not mistaken, your arrival was a chaotic affair and your afternoon tour rushed. I might escort you to the gardens or wherever you like, or offer you my conversation if you desire it. I understand you are to meet with our Lord and his staff on the morn, but for tonight and after the morning you may as well enjoy yourself.”

“Your company is welcome if you are not needed in the Hall,” Glorfindel finally managed to sneak a word in between hers.

“Ah! What a lovely rose! From our arbors, I imagine. Erestor is a marvel; that is true, and Lindir no less. I find every resident of Imladris a unique wonder. I do not know if you know the King Thranduil of Mirkwood, but he once declared that Lord Elrond was a collector of strays, from gypsy minstrels to half-breed scum and traitors. Our Lord Elrond would never deny it, for it is true. One need not wander the face of the earth to find diversity, for I do believe all one could wish for can be found in this Valley. There are wonders beyond the walls of the House you know. The most marvelous pub lies not five-hundred paces to the south, beyond the line of birch and ash trees, the Healers keep their stations behind the House, and the stables are a source of comfort and entertainment to many, especially on Saturday eve when Lindir takes his stories to the loft to entertain the few Guards we have on duty between shifts. Not to mention a bit of a playhouse in an amphitheatre just down the river and the craftsmen who keep their houses and their wares along the river to the north.”

“Sounds delightful.”

“My, but I have been told my tongue is something that must be put to a stop before it runs away with me. Do tell me if my words begin to ramble; I’ve no sense of it.”

“I do believe your tongue the most interesting thing I’ve heard all day, and you’ll not hear me ask you to cease your words for my patience is eternal.”

Her eyes twinkled.

Glorfindel’s brows narrowed suspiciously. “Why do you give me such a look, as if you know something I do not?”

“I believe I do. Your ears may be paying me the most respectful attentions, but your eyes ever stray to that rose of yours. I imagine you know very little of Erestor. And do not listen to Lindir unless he is singing, for his own tongue may ramble as much as mine, but not always truthfully.”

Glorfindel laughed. “I find the Elves here to be much to my liking.”

“Are we so different from any others you have known?”

“Aye. You are all full of mystery, laughter, and spice. Not at all like my past dealings with Elves of honor, diplomacy, virtue, and unwavering tediousness.” Seeing her expression, Glorfindel smiled and said, “Do not mistake me. There is nothing of dishonor or vice here. My welcome has been utterly charming and I never felt so comforted. My existence of late has subsisted at a much slower pace, however, and the utter momentum of life here overwhelms me.”

“I see. A lonely traveler you seem, and it’s true that our lives are sometimes simple and sometimes not, but never slow.”

“You offered to me your ear,” Glorfindel suddenly said, “And I wish to make use of your wisdom, which you must have in abundance if indeed you lay the very mortar and stones of Imladris.”

Ninalin smiled and hurried to seat herself beside him in the shadowed window. “Speak!” she demanded in a happy titter.

Glorfindel turned to face her, a serious expression on his devastatingly handsome features. “Your Lord Elrond has greeted me as a guest and questioned me little, for which I am thankful. I did not know what to expect of this place, as I have only heard very little of it. But such a delightful land I’ve never known and never seen. When I walked through your gates I knew I wished to make my home here. And though I refrain from socialization tonight,” he indicated the Hall doors, “I do not think I should like a little home to myself in your woods, lovely though they may be. Perhaps there is a position in the House that I might fill. If you have need of Guards or Scribes, I could fill both stations equally well.”

“Ah, you wish to make yourself useful before you outlive your welcome. Fear not! Tongues have been wagging all day. You are already welcome here, Glorfindel, for both your beauty and your mystery. And should you wish to make here your home you will find no one standing in your way. Except Erestor.”

“Erestor?”

“Erestor is Chief Counselor to Elrond,” Ninalin explained. “He is older than most and his suspicions are not easily allayed. His job consists chiefly of worrying about what Elrond does not have time to worry about, and he excels at it. So, he will worry about your origins and intent until he is satisfied you present no threat.”

“I feel obliged to admit, of all I have met today, tis Erestor who intrigues me most. I should like to know him better, but Lindir gave little hope of such and you offer even less.”

“I never stand in the way of hope,” Ninalin declared. “But if you have set your sights on Erestor, you have set your sights high indeed. He does not make friends easily, if at all, and will welcome none of your advances, whatever they may be.” She left her implications ambiguous.

“You seem so certain,” he said with a sigh.

She stood and looked on him with pity. “I should be, as I am his daughter. I see I have given you much to think on, Glorfindel. So I leave you to your peace and hope to see you tomorrow.”  
 Ninalin slipped within the Hall of Fire, leaving an open-mouthed Glorfindel gaping after her.

= = = = =

One week later, Erestor was no less impressed, but far more frustrated. The remarkable creature known as Glorfindel remained distant in his speech and his looks, but always near. It seemed the venerable Counselor could not turn a corner or eat a meal without Glorfindel standing before him or at his side. So distracted was he in fact, that Erestor was oblivious when people began to whisper that Imladris’ Chief Counselor had become infatuated.

But it could not be helped as Glorfindel seemed to bring distraction with him, and even when the golden-haired mystery was nowhere in sight, he was foremost in Erestor’s mind. So, sitting in stillness and a foreign sort of melancholy at his desk in the afternoon, Erestor did not hear the knock at his door.

“Ada?”

The tinkling voice woke him from his thoughts and Erestor looked up to see Ninalin peering in at him. “Come, child.”

Ninalin stepped within, silently closing the door behind her. She smirked gently as her bare feet caressed the deep blue rug. She crossed to come around Erestor’s desk and sit on it, her shoeless feet dangling. “Hello.” She held out a handful of calendulas, which he accepted and placed in a ready vase with some other flowers.

Erestor’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the sprightly Elf maiden. “Hello. What brings you here, Ninalin?”

“Neither duty nor routine. I have come to talk to you.”

“Very well. Remove yourself from my desk, if you would, and fetch the brandy.”

She smiled and dropped a kiss on his dark head before pouring two generous glasses from the crystal decanter hidden behind the large dictionary on the third shelf. She returned to hand one to Erestor and then seat herself beside him on the stool kept there for just such a purpose. “Speak your mind, girl.”

“I am no longer a girl,” she teased, “But a woman full grown.”

“I know it,” Erestor said with a sigh. “Speak then, Ninalin.”

“There’s more Imladris gossip.”

“I do not wish to hear of it.”

“Even if it concerns you?”

Erestor’s eyes widened.

“Indeed, Ada, everyone speaks of it. Just yester eve Elrond remarked upon it to me.”

“Remarked upon what, exactly?” Erestor asked, his voice laced with more worry than usual.

“Remarked upon your infatuation with our recent arrival. There is not an Elf in the Valley that does not know of your unique obsession with the mysterious Glorfindel.”

“Why on Arda would anyone think that?”

“It is simple. On the second day here, he joined the Household staff as messenger, attendant, and scribe.”

“What’s so odd about that?”

“You did not disapprove. That’s not all there is to it, but that’s how it began. No one has ever entered into service in Imladris without a serious look into their past and a serious talking to.”

“Ninalin. I am neither fascinated nor obsessed with Glorfindel. None who look upon him can deny the goodness that shines from within him. I do not see what cause this is for gossip.”

Ninalin frowned. “You are right. Of course. Except that your eyes ever turn toward him. To the point of distraction.”

“I watch and listen. That is my duty. Besides, Glorfindel is turning heads left and right; why do people insist on watching me?”

“Because they are fascinated to see such an emotionless being as yourself marked by the first signs of love.”

“Love. Pfft. You should all know that I am not susceptible to such frailty.”

Ninalin’s light blue eyes grew soft with compassion and a deep sadness. “Ada. Love is not a weakness, nor an infirmity. I wish I knew why you think so.” She reached up a dainty hand to lay it on his robes over his heart. “I wish you spoke in words Glorfindel could understand. He would be a blessing from the Valar, if only you would let him.”

Erestor carefully removed her hand. “Ninalin, you speak of love and blessings. These are the talk of fairytales, and I have no love of fiction. I have no need of your aid, in matters personal or professional, so please leave.”

Ninalin stood, distractedly laying her glass aside. “As you wish it. I will see you at dinner.”

She left the room, her steps far heavier than when she had entered.

Erestor dropped his head to his hands, but would not allow the tears to come. “I love you, Ninalin.” His words were so soft that even the listless flowers did not heed them.

= = = = =

Glorfindel remained utterly confused for a long time. Getting into the flow of life in the Valley was more difficult than he had anticipated. He found great comfort in Lindir, who was the only Elf to never ask Glorfindel a single question about his past, aside from Erestor, who never asked him anything. Lindir quickly became a friend at a deeper level than most. The minstrel with the moon-colored hair had an insight that was unspoken but obvious. He did not need words to know Glorfindel’s mood or desires. They could easily sit in silence or wander the woods in deep conversation. Sometimes Lindir would sit and sing for Glorfindel and their free moments were often spent together.

And then there was Ninalin. Glorfindel did not see so much of her as he would like, as the maid was often busy with some task or other. But he was glad of the occasions when he could sit down with her before a cozy fire and speak of life and love. He was unsurprised to find, upon asking, that her mother had sailed to the West. He asked little else.

Lord Elrond himself was the most wonderful surprise. He could be stern, and his love for his land and people could not be questioned. But if you got him in his slippers with a glass of wine in his hand, he became the most kind-hearted, smart-mouthed, easy-going companion imaginable and Glorfindel felt blessed to spend time with the Lord who could have him clutching his stomach in strains of laughter for hours on end.

Erestor was something else all together. Glorfindel had applied himself early and now he worked closely with Erestor. Not all the time, or even most of the time, but on occasion he found himself working beside the enigmatic Chief Counselor, who invariably was his cold, severe self. He said little, as Lindir had warned him, and discouraged conversation of any sort, which Ninalin had cautioned him, too. Erestor was coldly beautiful and Glorfindel could only admit to himself that he was intrigued. And wanted to see that beauty melt the coldness away.


	2. Evolution

One thousand years later.

“Ah, they are arrived.” Elrond rose from his seat on the stone steps in the courtyard to stand beside Erestor, who would never condescend to sit upon the steps. He did not believe it a seemly thing to do.

Erestor merely nodded and watched as the hunting party rode in. A great crowd anticipated them, filling the courtyard and they threw rose petals before the hooves of the giant horses and sung a song of victory. Erestor took it all in stride, merely watching as Arwen greeted her brothers and Lindir advanced upon Glorfindel and all the others who had come back were welcomed with great cheer and praise.

Then Glorfindel strode laughing up the steps, his spirit as bright as ever and his golden hair flowing behind him. “Elrond!”

They embraced and Elrond said some words of tradition regarding the Hunt. Glorfindel returned the thanks and then turned to Erestor. “Counselor! So good to see you out of the House! I was beginning to think your skin was so fair because it never saw daylight.”

“You know I spend much time in the gardens,” Erestor reminded him. Then the Counselor stepped forward to slip a flower into a buttonhole on Glorfindel’s tunic.

“What’s this?” he asked, regarding the pretty little flower.

“A jonquil.”

“Hm. Well, will you sit beside me at dinner, Erestor? It seems I’ve not spent any time with you since the leaves fell.”

Erestor inclined his head. “If you wish it.”

“Glorfindel!”

“Ninalin! My darling, my darling!” he hollered with joy, taking her by the waist as she rushed at him to lift her into the air and spin her about.  
 They embraced tightly and she stepped back to speak.

Elrond shook his head. “That girl’s tongue could stop an army if they paused to listen.”

“I’ve told her a thousand times, ‘hold your tongue for silence is beauty.’”

“And what is her response?” Elrond asked.

Erestor told his Lord, “‘So is music.’” He shook his head.

Elrond laughed. “Glorfindel does little to discourage her.”

Erestor nodded agreement and the two dark-haired Elves moved together down the hall, as the crowd in the yard began to thin.

“I think,” Elrond slowly observed, “that they are rather taken with each other.”

“They are not in love,” Erestor told him.

“Oh no indeed,” he quickly agreed. “But if I do say so, I believe Glorfindel is the brother she never had. He is good to her.”

“Aye.”

“On the other hand,” Elrond suggested, “your daughter would do well to make a match.”

“She is like me,” Erestor said. “She does not desire love or affection.”

“You lie.”

“I do,” Erestor quickly admitted, sighing heavily. “Ninalin is like me in that she does not seek love. But she is free with her affection and a beautiful woman. I know not why she has not given her heart.”

“Because of you.”

“What?” Erestor asked.

“You are her father, and do you know what she sees when she looks at you?”

Erestor stopped walking and the Elves turned to face one another in the deserted hallway. “What?” asked the Counselor.

“She sees one whom she loves: you, a grumpy old Elf with no love and no passion for anything except work and flowers. Can you not see that she wishes for you to be happy?”

“I am happy--”

“You do not look it,” Elrond was quick to point out, turning to march down the hall, leaving Erestor behind him.

= = = = =

When they sat down to dinner, Erestor slipped two chrysanthemums into Glorfindel’s hand, one red and one yellow.

The gorgeous Elf with the golden hair smiled, a slightly puzzled expression, and they began to eat.

Ninalin sat beside her father and shook her head.

Lindir sat beside Glorfindel and shook his head.

They both leaned back in their chairs to look at each other and roll their eyes.

Elrond watched all of this and shook his head with a wistful sigh.

“What is it, Ada?”

“Nothing, Arwen. I sometimes forget the luxury of youth and beauty.”

She raised a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.

= = = = =

After the previous few hundred years, Glorfindel had slowly begun to prove himself with both quill and sword. And though he still retained his position as messenger, attendant, and scribe with no elevation in status, his duties had changed and his renown increased.

His prowess with a sword was unmatched by any in the Valley, but for the Lord of Imladris himself, and his diplomatic tongue was an asset to the Chief Counselor, who often worked closely with the golden-haired Elf, finding him to be both intelligent and resourceful.

And though they had only ever spoke of work and trifling things -- despite the many hours they spent together even outside of their vocation -- one day Erestor opened his mouth to say something unexpected.

They were in the Chief Counselor’s office, a homey sort of place where Glorfindel was constantly stealing sips of brandy from Erestor’s secret stash. But on this rare occasion, Erestor did not chastise him for it, letting the handsome Elf drink as much as liked. In fact, he’d had a few glasses of his own and they had both been working in contented silence for some hours. “Are you the Balrog Slayer?”

Glorfindel looked up from his work and blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Glorfindel slowly set aside the correspondences and rose from his seat to run a nervous hand through his hair. “You are the first to ask me that.”

Erestor just stared at him.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I am curious.”

“What made you suspect?”

“I have suspected for a long time,” Erestor told him. “You arrive at our gates an unknown traveler. You prove yourself worthy of more than most. You answer to Glorfindel. You do not speak of your past. All of this together lends some suspicion. But I must also profess that your life-force shines brighter than most and glimmers with something more than Elven spirit.”

“I see.” Glorfindel paced a bit, sipping at the brandy. “Yes,” he finally professed in a whisper. “I am the Balrog Slayer.” He looked to Erestor with blue eyes shining unshed tears.

Erestor stood.

“Please,” Glorfindel begged. “Tell no one.”

“I will not,” he agreed. “If that is your wish.” He seemed a bit uncertain. “I did not mean to make you emotional, Glorfindel.” For an endless moment an air of hesitancy hung between them, but then Erestor broke it and said, “Come, we will do no more work tonight.”

Erestor left his office and Glorfindel followed. They went to the gardens, aimlessly following the moonlight between trees both tall and small, where little plants nodded lazily in the slight night breeze and gorgeous flowers smiled.

“Why do you come here?” Glorfindel finally asked a question that had tickled his mind for centuries.

Erestor preceded him down the stone path to a familiar bench. They sat together there in the middle of the circular rose arbor. A tall oak shaded them from the moon, casting broken patches of silver light upon them. Erestor had gathered a few flowers as they walked, which he now handed one by one to Glorfindel, who took them silently. He took the daffodil and stuck it behind his ear and the acacia he put in his buttonhole. The rest: white dittany, purple lilac, heliotrope, red columbine, and forget-me-nots he quickly fashioned a bouquet of and hung them on his belt as Lindir often did. All the while, Erestor spoke, “Elves know this land and its life like no other creature possibly can. So many of us turn to the animals for information and to the trees for wisdom. But I have always looked upon flowers as kindred and they offer their words so freely that I believe most people never hear.”

Glorfindel raised a brow. “You can talk to flowers?”

Erestor glared.

Glorfindel lifted a hand defensively and murmured a little, “Sorry.”

“They have their life-force as any other living creature,” Erestor insisted. “And I see this and listen to their songs. As always.”

Then they sat in silence and Glorfindel looked around them at the multitude of red roses. “I never wanted to bother you, Erestor. But I am also curious. What of Ninalin’s mother? You must be lonesome without your wife.”

Erestor looked to the ground. “I never loved Hiladalin,” he confessed. “The story is simple and short, though not many know it. I was traveling to Mirkwood on some diplomatic foray in hopes of soothing relations between the woodland realm and the newly born Imladris. Hiladalin was a lady of the court and she was nothing like me. I was a stranger to her when she snuck upon me in the gardens of Mirkwood. The gardens no longer exist I might add; the people of the Greenwood now have much to concern themselves with. But then, the gardens were as full as any other of beauty and love and light and so that is where I spent much of my time. Hiladalin knew this; she had asked after me. And she met me there in the gardens and gave me a yellow tulip and she said to me, ‘My love is hopeless. I am in love with my King and I have lain with him and I am with child.’” Erestor shook his head. “Silly girl. She was so young. I do not pretend to know Thranduil’s intentions. Passions overrule sensibilities on occasion, so I condemned neither of them. But she begged me to bring her with me back to Imladris, where the child might be sheltered in the new land of the Valley. I agreed. And I did marry her; I insisted upon it. Hiladalin and I were kindred souls of a sort. I saw that her time was short and she saw that I would raise her child with what love I had. So we returned to Imladris, husband and wife, to the shock of many. She gave birth and over time she began to fade. She sailed to the West and I am glad of it, for as she left the Valley she was singing sweetly and I had never heard song more happy.

“Those were the days when the Homely House was but a dream, when we slept in the trees and Celebrian and Elrond founded the place. Ninalin I raised as my own. She knows her history, though not the identity of her father. She has never asked it. And she toddled along beside me at our meetings on the bank of the river and later she accompanied the hunters in the woods and when she became a woman she took on the title of Architect and she was the one to oversee the construction of the Last Homely House in those days of the birth of Imladris. I am ever proud of her, for she is my daughter in all but blood.”

Erestor ceased his words and Glorfindel stared at him with wonder. “That story is not so short and not so simple, but I am glad you shared it with me. Though I have to tell you, you have spoken more words to me tonight than in the past thousand years of our acquaintance all together.”

Erestor smirked. “That may be. Now it is very late,” he pointed out. “And I go to seek my rest. Good eve, Glorfindel.”   
“Good evening, Erestor.” Glorfindel watched as the dark-haired enigma wandered the garden paths on his return to the House, robes sighing softly after him as they dragged upon the stones.

= = = = =

When he approached Glorfindel’s chambers to call upon him, Lindir was surprised to find the door ajar. He peeped his head within, moon-pale hair swaying before him. “Gloooor-findel . . .” he called out in a singsong voice.

The golden-haired Elf sat before the window in this, the first room of his chambers, which functioned as both lounge and study. Glorfindel blinked and when he turned was somewhat surprised to find Lindir half in his rooms and half in the hall, looking curiously at him with those endless green eyes. “Lindir, my friend, do come in.”

The minstrel sidled into the open, friendly chamber, shutting the door behind him. “Glorfindel, you seem very much elsewhere of late.”

“Elsewhere?”

Lindir stepped forward, crossing the room to take a seat opposite his friend. He smiled gently. “Yes. Rather than here with me, you seem . . . somewhere else.”

“You know what troubles me,” Glorfindel softly informed him. “You need not question me on the matter.”

Lindir frowned and nodded. “Our friendship has always been a comfortable one,” he suggested, “because words are not needed between us. But I think you have long kept your thoughts to yourself, even if your heart is open to me. Glorfindel, I would have you speak of your frustrations, that I might better understand your moods, and I daresay offer some advice. If not, then perhaps you only wish to speak without being judged. If so, I am here.”

Never one to be so full of pride as to be unreasonable, Glorfindel nodded and even let escape a sigh of relief. “Erestor is driving me mad. I do not know how to--” Glorfindel suddenly broke his speech. “I’ve never spoken of my feelings for Erestor to another.”

Lindir smiled. “Well, it is long past time for you to do so. I promise I shall not condemn you or think you foolish.”

“I thank you. I expect no condemnation, but love makes fools of us all, so I fear that is something I cannot avoid.”

Lindir openly laughed. “No wonder you serve Elrond as an advisor! Your words are wise! But please go back to what you were saying, Glorfindel: you do not know what? How to love him?”

Glorfindel finally allowed a full-grown smile to curve his rose-pink lips. His star-lighted blue eyes twinkled as he said, “I have never loved so deeply nor so hopelessly, but I do know how to love. Nay, my problems are of a much more tactical nature. I do not know how to court him.”

Lindir blinked.

“I’ve been trying for decades!” Glorfindel insisted. “Private dinners in my quarters with candles and quiet conversation. Moonlit walks in the gardens and on the river. Surprise meals in his office when he forgets the noon repast. All of it. And Erestor takes everything in stride as though it were the most natural thing in the world for me to be mooning over him day and night. What he thinks of my advances -- if he notices them at all -- I do not know, but he has shown no signs of anything like returned affection.”

Lindir blinked again. “He dines with you in your rooms?”

“Yes.”

“He walks with you in the night?”

“Yes.”

“He allows you to remind him that he has not eaten, and then eats the food you bring him?”

“Yes.”

“Glorfindel, you say your love is hopeless, but I promise you it is not.”

“Do you truly think so?” asked the desperate Elf with sun-shining hair.

Lindir leaned forward, a smile gracing his fair face. “If you have spoken truth, yes. I have never known Erestor to allow anyone so close except for his daughter and perhaps his Lord. You, my dear Glorfindel, may be well on your way to accomplishing a previously unknown feat: finding Erestor’s illusive heart.” Seeing Glorfindel’s expression, Lindir smiled. “I see you know as well. Aye, I also know the truth of his marriage, as most do not, and by strange circumstances too convoluted to relate to you now. Just tell me this: does he still give you flowers?”

Glorfindel looked at him, blue eyes guilty and a little embarrassed. “Lindir. Do you know much of Erestor and flowers?”

“If you mean that green thumb of his, I know it well. He laid out the gardens here himself and let me tell you this: any seed he plants will grow. It will never wither and never fall to blight. And any flower that he cuts will live past a week even without water and countless weeks more with it.”

“Yes, that is true. And does he still give me flowers? Well . . .” Glorfindel rose from his seat and crooked his finger. “Follow me,” he murmured.

Lindir curiously rose from the chair and trailed him to the carved white door of the bedroom. Glorfindel rested his hand on the shining brass handle a moment. His pause lasted only an instant, and then he pushed the door open and led Lindir in. The fair minstrel let out a gasp. Vases and bowls of all shapes and sizes filled the room, on shelves, on the dresser, on the wardrobe and the desk, on the bedside table and on the windowsill. And even on the floor. Flowers filled the room as though a garden had invaded the indoors and little paths had been left, to the wardrobe and to the window, and to the bed. Glorfindel looked around sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Their life-span is truly remarkable; I couldn’t bear to throw them away.”

Lindir’s brows climbed his forehead as he looked up to find a multitude of flowers hanging from the canopy and upper shelves to dry. “Incredible.”

“The first day we met, you told me that flowers were ‘probably the most he ever offers anyone in a way of affection.’ I now believe it. And so these I keep close in remembrance and in hope.” Glorfindel sat upon the side of the bed. He reached within his outer tunic to remove a dainty flower, only slightly crushed. Lindir cocked head. “When we break our fast, almost every morning, he gives me a flower.”

“Every day?!” Lindir exclaimed in astonishment.

“At least,” Glorfindel quietly admitted. “This one was this morning.” He sighed a classic, lovelorn sigh. “Most nights I find something green and flowery hanging from my doorknob before I retire for the night. And throughout the day I never know when I’ll find something sprouting leaves on my half of the desk or beside my dinner plate.”

Lindir stared with wide eyes. He rushed to kneel before Glorfindel and take one large, strong hand in his own pale musician’s hands. “Glorfindel. I now have the deepest faith that both you and Erestor are simply speaking in different tongues. Have you told him your feelings?”

Glorfindel sighed. He set aside the moonflower and put his other hand on top of their entwined ones. “Every time I try, I find my tongue twisting into nonsense, and besides, I sometimes think the more I speak the less he hears.” They both regarded one another with something between hope and despair. “My hopes have wavered and an impasse stands before me. Sometimes I find myself saying the most dim-witted things and Erestor will look at me and I can never read him; he’s inscrutable. I just . . . I suppose I feel misunderstood a bit, and slightly hopeless. And foolish.” He smiled. “But anyone in love cannot help that.”

= = = = =

It took rather a lot of finagling on Glorfindel’s part to engineer operations according to his prerogative. But it was worth it.

Elladan and Elrohir were to escort their sister to the Golden Wood. Glorfindel and Erestor would accompany them. Lindir would never know how he managed it, but somehow Glorfindel had convinced both Elrond and Erestor that the Chief Counselor was in need of something along the lines of a break from work. Not so much a vacation, nor a holiday, but a small break, a little excursion from the Valley.

So it was: Lindir and Elrond stood upon the large balcony that looked over the courtyard, watching five of Imladris’ most precious residents departing on a journey that could be perilous to a land beyond the Mountains. “They will be just fine my Lord. Those five horses are fleet and loyal, and those five Elves are fine warriors with fierce spirits.”   
“Tis not orcs or outside attack that worry me.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I know precisely what will happen, up to a point. Their journey shall be uneventful and their time in Lothlorien relaxing. Then my sons shall decide it has been too long since they frolicked in Caras Galadon, and they shall send the other two back alone. From that moment I know not what will happen for I cannot imagine Erestor the Cold of Heart and Glorfindel the Free of Spirit alone together in the woods. They shall certainly be the death of one another if they do not make all efforts to finally follow their hearts.”

Lindir chuckled. “I cannot wait till they return.” He shared a mischievous smile with his Lord and they turned about to enter the House, trying not to laugh.

= = = = =

Elladan rode ahead while Elrohir remained behind. Arwen smiled continuously as she rode with Erestor on her left, silent and stoic, and Glorfindel on her right, laughing and buoyant. “My good Lady,” Glorfindel said after a few moments’ silence. “What say you of the soundless Erestor? Think you he shall condescend to speak with us?”

“Why Glorfindel, I should never speak _of_ the Chief Erestor, as I should never speak of anyone behind their back . . . especially when they are present.” She smiled radiantly at the tall, handsome Elf.

He laughed joyously. “To be sure! Yet his ominous silence disturbs me. It is unnatural, is it not, to snub the use of language when it is granted to so few creatures in this world?”

Elladan turned around to say, “Why I declare, Glorfindel, tis only natural to keep silent when one has nothing to say.”

“On the other hand,” Elrohir said from behind them, “one need not open their mouth to speak.”

“Aye,” Arwen agreed. “The value of an expression may exceed that of language many times over.”

Erestor grumbled.

“My goodness, what was that?” Glorfindel remarked. “Has an irritable songbird sounded her displeasure or did our good friend actually speak?” He laughed.

Erestor grumbled again and suddenly dismounted, stomping off into the woods, sword clanking unnaturally at his side. The four mounted Elves halted and stared wonderingly after the Counselor. Glorfindel finally leaned over to whisper to the gorgeous lady, “Do you think he has finally gone mad?”

Arwen vaguely nodded. “Perhaps you have at last pushed him over the edge.”

“Ah.”  They watched in wonder as Erestor tramped back onto the trail, circling before his curious horse and Arwen’s mare and Asfaloth to approach Glorfindel. He jabbed something green and twiggy into the warrior’s belt with great frustration. “There,” he huffed in displeasure, black eyes flashing with anger. “Wear that in honor of your love of the Elvish tongue.” Four pairs of wide eyes watched as Erestor returned to mount his horse in one fluid move and urge her on at a gallop.

“Well. That went discouragingly ill, I imagine,” Arwen offered with a sympathetic look to Glorfindel, who stared with total bewilderment after the dark-haired Elf.

= = = = =

For the rest of the journey, Glorfindel kept a tight watch on his tongue, speaking only to Elrond’s children when absolutely necessary and only to Erestor to apologize. And as they rode throughout the week, he continuously fingered the arrow-shaped leaves on the wild sorrel he wore still in his belt and his longing blue eyes followed Erestor at every turn, all the while regretting his words. On one eve of their travels, he turned to the Lady and said to her, “Love makes fools of us all. Do prepare yourself when your time comes.”

She smiled graciously and responded, “I thank you for your frank advice. I doubt I shall ever receive guidance more true and worldly.”

Glorfindel only responded with a half-hearted smirk, but then showed a true, beaming smile when Erestor sat beside him and slipped a purple hyacinth into his warrior’s hand. He turned that gorgeous smile on the Counselor and their hands lingered upon one another as Glorfindel accepted the flower.

Erestor’s mystifying black eyes met clear blue and he withdrew his hand, but stayed at Glorfindel’s side. Elladan and Arwen exchanged a knowing glance and Elrohir muffled a giggle.

Then they all lay down to rest but for Elladan, who watched over them as Erestor laid his bedroll beside the sleeping Glorfindel and sought what rest there is to be had by one who is sick with love and riddled with passion.

= = = = =

Upon their arrival at the silver and gold city of Caras Galadon, Galadriel smiled brilliantly and took Glorfindel in her arms as one would a brother. She said nothing to him, as no words were needed, and then greeted her grandchildren lovingly and graciously. Celeborn and Glorfindel hailed one another in the manner of all Elves, right hands on left shoulders. They too had no necessity of words, though smiled little.

Erestor was neglected, as was popular fashion in all realms as few saw anything more than an unaffected Counselor who loved only his work. Few would see the wink Galadriel sent his way or Celeborn’s intriguing smile.

For two seasons, Galadriel monopolized Arwen’s attentions and Glorfindel squirreled himself away with Lorien’s Lord while the sons of Elrond disappeared into the forest of Mellyrn, leaving Erestor to occupy himself, which he happily did, walking every day in the gardens and speaking as little as possible and smiling not at all.

But after those seasons had passed and winds began whispering of chill and snow, Erestor declared that it was time to return home. Glorfindel agreed and many in Lorien were sad to see Glorfindel’s bright spirit depart. But when it came time to mount their horses, the twins did not join them, proclaiming that they had been too long away from their grandparents’ realm and intended to stay some years longer, if their father had no need of them.

So it was the most respected advisors of Imladris departed the lands of the Mallorn tree alone. And in silence.


	3. Innovation

Erestor and Glorfindel followed the cold waters of the Nimrodel and passed over the Misty Mountains. They spoke little, though their travels were filled with Glorfindel’s song, as he sang freely much of the time often to the birds and the stars and the trees.

The only flower Glorfindel found himself gifted with throughout this stretch of the journey was something purplish with rather ugly leaves. He tied it to the laces of his shirt, keeping it close to his heart.

But as they descended into Eregion, Glorfindel was charmed to find that a huge market -- the last of the summer -- had set itself up not very far from the base of the Mountains. It took some persuasion on his part to convince Erestor to attend, but his persistence was nothing if not endless, and so Erestor found himself following the golden waves of hair to the market, where the human populace gathered in tents and wagons with their carts and horses, hoping to sell their wares.

They left their own mounts without picket or tack at the edge of the wood, and passed beneath the waving flags brightly colored. Glorfindel’s joy could not be hidden and he towered above the human crowd, far too brilliant a spirit, as Erestor closely followed him. There were a few other Elves wandering the place, and the two travelers greeted them happily, but the humans all pointed and whispered when Glorfindel and Erestor passed, for their beauty was perfect and their grace inhuman and their spirits dazzling.

Erestor sighed, for while there was some beauty to found among the humans and their goods, there was little of any extraordinariness, and he followed Glorfindel like a cloud of displeased boredom.

Glorfindel laughed and talked with any who dared to speak to him and immensely enjoyed the fair, making a few purchases as they went. But Erestor’s insufferable air began to stifle him, so the golden-haired Elf finally rounded on his friend to proclaim, “Erestor. Since you obviously share none of my interests, it may well serve you to pursue your own.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, Erestor nodded with half a bow. “I shall meet you with the horses one hour before sunset.” He turned on his heel and waltzed away, the crowd parting before him like peasants at a parade.

“Well,” Glorfindel said to the weaver who had witnessed the conversation, “that was easy.”

And the golden Elf was content to wander the place like a child discovering a long-hidden attic, and when he heard of a divine dessert tent set up near the edge of the west field, Glorfindel hastened down the rows toward the destination. He halted suddenly, however, when a familiar head of deepest black hair caught in the corner of his eye. Glorfindel crept between a tailor’s tent and a candle-maker’s cart to spy upon the Counselor, who was approaching a very poor looking young girl of no more than thirteen years surrounded by baskets and buckets and pots of colorful flowers.

“Flowers!” she called out to the passing people, her cries mixing with those of “Hot buns! Get ‘em while their hot!” and “Fish, all kinds: trout, bass, and salmon!” and “Linens and cottons! Cheap!” This poor girl stood with rag-wrapped feet in the mud and long dirty blonde hair falling in tangled curls to her waist. She held in her thin arms a multitude of fragrant red roses and called out in a high voice, “Flowers! Freshly picked flowers for sale! Lilies or daisies! Give your lucky girl a lucky white carnation! The finest roses for your finest love!” Her voice was tired but persistent, and with a good wash the young thing would clean up quite well. But Glorfindel was not watching her.

He was watching Erestor. The Counselor appeared to be slowly wandering the stalls, but he was headed directly for the young flower girl and stopped not three feet from her, bowing graciously.

Finding herself the attention of such a remarkable creature, for a moment the girl only stared, her wide hazel eyes drawn to the pointed ears. But after a moment of astonishment, she smiled and Glorfindel saw that she was very pretty when she did so, and she said to Erestor, “Please, may I help you, sir?”

Erestor’s beautiful voice, rarely heard, rung clearly in the streets and Glorfindel leaned forward to watch the scene unfold. “Well, I say, your flowers are most beautiful. Where do they come from?”

Smiling, the girl answered, “I pick them all myself. Many of them grow wild near the river by my father’s farm.” She pointed to a rickety old cart behind her, near the end of the marketplace. “That’s him over there. Our vegetables are very good,” she promised. “Oh, and the rest of the flowers I pick on the way to market when we come. I know all the best places to find them.”

“Very good. You must labor arduously to find the best,” he observed looking at the small sea of baskets full of what were admittedly beautiful specimens.

“I do my best, sir,” she said. “Is there anything in particular you are looking for today?”

Erestor nodded and leaned close to the young miss. “Yes indeed. I’m looking to purchase three flowers. One for myself, one for my friend, and one for a beautiful young lady.”

Glorfindel’s ears perked up and he snuck forward from his hiding spot to inch closer to the conversation.

“Very good, sir,” the girl replied, carefully setting down her armful of roses. “I have so many kinds; what types of flowers would you like?”

“First, I seek a flower to match my mood.”

She nodded agreeably. “Fine, fine,” she said with a smile. “And what is your mood today, sir?”

“I must allow that today, like all days, I am consumed by love.”

The girl blushed red. “Well then, I should say I’ve just the thing.” She turned to a tall bucket of hollyhocks and such long-stemmed plants to pull forth a pale purple flower with five petals, beautifully formed. “Mallow for you,” she said, presenting him with the flower.

He took it graciously from her. “An excellent selection. I do believe you are right; this flower knows well my love.”

“And for your friend?” she asked, her cheeks still blushed with pink.

“What would you suggest?” he replied.

“Hmm,” she said, wondering as she looked on the rainbow of flowers about her. She smiled, and her long, curling hair fell before her as she bent down to retrieve a reddish stem branching with green leaves and delightful little white blooms. “Arborvitae,” she said. “If your friendship is a true and everlasting one.”

“As true as they come,” he said softly with the fondest of smiles, and he took the flower from her.

“And now your lady? What for her?”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly.” Erestor rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, surveying the many pots and baskets. Eventually, he suggested, “Why do you not pick out YOUR favorite?”

“Oh sir,” she replied, clasping her hands before her as she spoke, “I’ve quite a bit of experience and I can tell you that every lady has her favorite. How do you know mine will suit?”

Then, Erestor took her hand and bowed and laid a kiss upon it. He straightened and looked her in the eye as he said, “I have no doubt that such a beautiful young lady as yourself will have equally beautiful taste. I am certain that as you have not failed me yet, you cannot go wrong.”

He released her hand and she blushed fairly crimson. “Very well, sir,” she mumbled as her heart fluttered. “If that is your wish.”

“Without a qualm.”

The girl sunk low to part the many flowers in one pot and she selected the simplest of yellow flowers, with shiny petals and heart-shaped leaves. She arose, cradling it lovingly in her hands. “Celandine,” she said softly. “A simple flower with a simple meaning.”

“Joys to come,” he answered her just as softly, just as reverently.

She looked up at him, truly longing for his approval. “Will this serve, sir?”

“Truly perfect,” he agreed.

She smiled and gave to him the flower. Her voice was calm and low when she held out her hand. “One copper for the lot.”

It seemed that Erestor withdrew a coin from nowhere and placed it in her palm. It was a silver coin. And then, he smiled and handed the yellow celandine back to her.

She was a bit confused as she took them both and looked from the shining silver coin in one hand to the little flower in the other. “I’m sorry sir, is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Erestor answered. “Keep the change from the silver. And the celandine is for you, young lady.

She blushed scarlet all over again. “I . . . I thank you, sir.”

“Not at all,” he said with a flirtatious bow. “Mayhap I should tell you, it is the custom of my people to weave flowers in their hair, and I do declare your favorite flower would look charming in your golden locks.” He tucked the mallow and arborvitae into his belt and held out a hand. “May I show you?” he asked.

She nodded, licking her lips nervously.

He took the green stemmed flower and carefully parted a lock of her curling hair and drew it forward so she could watch as he braided the stem into her hair, leaving the flower hanging down. “There. I daresay you are now the most beautiful young lady at market today.” Erestor flashed a charming grin and turned to leave.

“Wait sir!” she begged, with an imploring gesture. “Please, what is your favorite flower?”

He returned to kneel before her and say with a quirking smile, “It is my opinion that no flower can equal the beauty of the Mallorn blossom. I do not doubt you have never seen such a thing.” (She nodded agreement.) “But they closely resemble the much smaller morning glory, which I have also long favored, as they were beloved of my mother. They climb the trellis outside my window at home and I do love them.”

“Then please,” the girl said, turning to pull a length of the vine flower from a bucket, “wear this in your hair . . . a-and think of me,” she finished with a stutter.

“Certainly,” he said with a smile. He stayed down on one knee so that the maid could reach with shaking fingers to braid the pale purple flowers into his dark mane. “Don’t be afraid to pull,” he instructed. “The tighter the knots, the longer it will stay put.”

With a bit more confidence, she bit at her lower lip and firmly wound the morning glories in a proper braid that fell over his shoulder.

He stood and then offered another modest bow as he said, “I thank you, young miss, for your gift.”

“And I must thank you,” she said with a nod, her curling locks bobbing with the little golden flower.

Erestor graced the human girl with one last smile and turned to see Glorfindel, who seemed to be intently studying a candle-maker’s wares.

The dark-haired Counselor sedately approached him and tucked the arborvitae behind a pointing ear hidden in the golden locks. “Come, my friend,” he said. “The day grows long and we should be on our way.”

“Go on ahead,” Glorfindel asked of him. “And I will meet you shortly.”

Erestor raised one fine eyebrow, but said nothing, turning to vanish into the crowds.

Glorfindel watched his retreat and when he was sure the Elf was gone, he turned to rush the young flower girl.

Seeing this tall, golden creature come running, the girl froze, her hazel eyes wide, and almost squeaked when he fell to his knees before her. “Please,” he begged. “Is it true that every flower has its own meaning?”

She gasped at the stars she saw in shining blue eyes, but managed an answer even through her fearful awe. “Aye. The language of flowers is old indeed, and each speaks for itself.”

Glorfindel held back a keening wail, but could not prevent lashing out with a hard fist into the muddy earth beside him. He bowed his head, golden hair dragging in the mud to moan, “I am a fool.”

But then he looked up with hopeful eyes and untied the purple flower from his chest. He held it up and said, “Please, what is this?”

“Tis a globe amaranth,” the girl answered him. “It tells of immortal love.”

“Love?” he asked in a choked voice. Glorfindel closed sky-blue eyes and remembered back a thousand years before when he entered the gardens of Imladris for the first time as the sun was fading to the west in sweet ambers and golds to find a mysterious creature seated upon a bench with a book. He remembered how the golden sun shone upon the Elf and how he had risen and put aside the book and walked to the arbor and plucked a red, red rose. He remembered too the careful precision that had gone into removing every single thorn from the green, green stem. “Please,” he asked desperately of the girl. “What is the meaning of a rose without thorns?”

“A thornless rose? Tis love at first sight.”

Glorfindel jumped to his feet, calling himself every kind of a fool, but especially a sightless one. “What am I that I cannot see what has always been before me?” he asked of himself in a whisper. Then he looked to the girl, still staring with wide, hazel eyes. “Yes, I am odd,” he told her. “But you have changed my life.” He dropped his money purse into an empty bucket at her feet. “The blessings of the Valar upon you, sweet girl,” he said, before turning to run through the dispersing crowd as the golden hour approached and his golden hair streamed out behind him.


	4. Culmination

Erestor waited not overlong with the horses when Glorfindel came trotting up the small hill to meet them. His handsome blue eyes were unaccountably wide and thoughtful and the blonde elf said nothing, only greeting his friend with a curt nod, the little white flower behind his ear bobbing with him.

Erestor’s curious dark eyes followed the shining golden spirit as they galloped into the wood, and they traveled at great speed until night fell and the moon sang a gentle song.

Then they made short camp without fire, drifting in slumber at turns throughout the darkness.

= = = = =

When the weary Elves finally arrived at the Last Homely House several days later just as the sun was setting, Ninalin was the first to run out to them, her bare feet slapping on the cobbled stones and her silver hair waving behind her. Erestor could barely dismount before her thin arms caught him in a surprisingly powerful embrace and her lilac scent caught in his nostrils. He hugged her back, hiding his smile in her rippling, silver hair.

“I am glad you are returned, Ada.”

“So am I,” he whispered before eventually releasing her. Then she threw herself into Glorfindel’s arms and he picked her up and hugged her and then set her down again. They were soon chatting as quickly as chittering hens and Erestor shook his head, nodding his thanks to a young Elf who would lead his horse to the stable.

Elrond then approached and he too offered his Chief Advisor a welcoming embrace. “You have been missed, and by more than myself,” he told his friend. They walked silently side by side after Glorfindel and Ninalin, whose words fluttered between them like dancing moths on a summer breeze.

= = = = =

Having eaten and bathed, Glorfindel was quick to make all haste to the library, and was glad to find Melpomaen still there, just putting away his work. “Melpomaen, my friend! I need your help.”

The young librarian looked up and smiled. “I see you have returned. An uneventful trip, I take it?”

“Yes, yes,” Glorfindel waved him off. “I need to find a book.”

“Well, this is most unexpected. I rarely see you here in the archives. But tell me what you need, and I will help you if I possibly can.”

Glorfindel nodded his thanks, nearly bowing. “I need a book on flowers.”

= = = = =

Near a week had passed since their return and Erestor had stumbled through several unexpected emotions, from curious to suspicious to worried. He finally settled on concerned, watching with overt interest the golden-haired Elf who had become his dearest friend over the past thousand years, aside from Elrond and Ninalin. Noticing this sudden distress, the Lord of the House gently took Erestor aside one evening to speak with him. They walked slowly at the side of a long balcony and watched the blinking stars.

“Erestor, my dearest friend,” he began.

Erestor regarded Elrond balefully. “Do not address me as such, Elrond, for you have put me on my guard. Never begin a conversation that way, especially with a one such as I, for your condescending manner is altogether too friendly to imply anything of an unsuspecting nature to fall from your lips.”

Elrond blinked, and then dismissed Erestor’s response with a shake of his head. “Well then, I shall simply be completely straightforward. Tell me, Erestor, why it is Glorfindel has captured your attention as he has not since the first week of his arrival?”

Erestor sighed, knowing that if he trusted anyone with the secrets of his past and of his heart then it was the half-Elf that stood before him now. “He never lost my attention, my Lord. As you probably know. I have simply let down my guard again; thank you for reminding me.”

When Erestor turned with a bow to leave, Elrond gently took his shoulder in a strong hand. “I meant no reminder, Erestor. These are times of peace, and have been for many centuries. In fact, I think you would do well to let rest such guards as you have put up and worn for most of your life.”

“You forget who you speak to, Elrond. You speak to one whose heart has grown cold and whose hope has withered.”

Offering the gentlest of smiles, Elrond shook his head in disagreement. “You lie so well, Erestor; you have much experience with it, I think. I see the way you look at your daughter, and my own children. And those you consider your friends. And I see the way you look at Glorfindel, and seeing all this, I know your heart is far from cold, concealed though it may be. And if your hope has withered, then I wonder that you continue to feed it by giving Glorfindel the gifts that you do.”

Feeling somewhat caught, Erestor only looked away and did not speak.

“And so I ask again, what is it about our dear friend that has captured you once more?”

Erestor stopped and turned to grasp the railing of the balcony. His dark eyes looked over the Valley and his voice was little more than a tripping murmur. “He speaks no more to me, Elrond. When first Glorfindel arrived, he spoke little. But there is nothing Imladris Elves love more than to talk. Sometimes they speak so much of so little that I wonder if they even hear themselves. And I do not fool myself, knowing my daughter is worst of the lot.

“Glorfindel was different when he first came. He was not so inclined to speak. But right away he began his associations with Lindir and Ninalin and -- no offence -- you. And he quickly learned the way of things and opened his mouth to speak.” Erestor sighed and seemed to ignore Elrond, who stood closely at his side. “And so he quickly adapted and opens his mouth and witty words come tumbling out with the ease of a river’s rush in spring.

“Ever since that trip to the market, however, he has held his tongue around me and I cannot imagine why. But you know me, my Lord. You know how words have failed me in the past and how they inevitably do. I have struggled with languages all my life and can speak more tongues than any other Elf I know and yet for all of this, my words have never served me so well as I should wish.” He shook his head. “I probably should not tell you this, simply because I know you have attempted match-making before. I know how you interfere with the lives of those around you.” Erestor smirked and chuckled a bit. It still wasn’t a smile. “But I have tried. Glorfindel seems to appreciate my company and we are often alone together and it seems I have opened my mouth a million times with intention of conveying some heartfelt adoration towards him. But my throat stops up and my lips dry out and I find my tongue all in a tangle for want of sufficient speech.” Erestor sadly shook his head, the black mane swaying against his back. “And so I say nothing and give him a flower and have done with it, for that is all I shall ever be capable of.”

Elrond rested a hand on Erestor’s shoulder and when he spoke, his words were low and calm, and Erestor thought there might be some magic in them. “If I may be so bold,” Elrond said in a mellifluous tone, “You and Glorfindel have quite outdone yourselves in the art of miscommunication.”

At this, Erestor finally looked up to meet mischievous gray eyes. “What is your meaning, Lord?”

“I daresay you shall discover it soon enough,” Elrond told him as he turned around and moved gracefully away along the balcony. “For I believe the golden hour approaches.”

“But the sun has already set, Elrond.”

“I know, Erestor,” Elrond called back over his shoulder, smiling to himself. “That is not the sun to which I was referring.”

= = = = =

Erestor was lost in thought, as was common for him these days, and wandering as he was down the corridor it should have come as little surprise that he did not see Glorfindel until he was nearly upon the golden-haired beauty.

Erestor stopped and stared.

Glorfindel sat at the threshold of the Chief Counselor’s door, his elbows resting on updrawn knees as his back leaned against the closed door, his golden hair flowing completely free and loose around that handsome face. Depthless blue eyes, lit with stars, stared hopefully up at him, and though those full, pink lips were nervous and almost frowning, the blue eyes were smiling. He had dressed himself nicely this day. Most of the time, Glorfindel took little care for his appearance and wore what he was comfortable in, but now he wore tight-fitting garments in blue and gold and he had polished his black dress boots. He stood, rising to his full height, an impressive stature and much taller than Erestor. And he held in his hand a great bunch of flowers and weeds and twigs.

Erestor was dumbfounded and knew not what to make of it at all.

Then, Glorfindel drew up enough courage to smile and he said, “Words and actions have failed us both, I fear. But had I not been blind to you and deaf to your language, I would have done this long ago.” When Glorfindel bowed his head and wrapped both his hands around that awkward bouquet, he looked like nothing more than a blushing Elfling. He licked nervous lips and carefully separated a beautiful white flower with slightly spotted petals. “This is an alstroemeria,” he carefully recited, handing it to Erestor. “It’s for devoted friendship.” He refused to meet Erestor’s astonished black eyes. Glorfindel carefully manipulated the bouquet in large fingers, which fumbled for the first time in Erestor’s memory. “I . . .” he stuttered a bit and muttered half to himself, “I have quite a few here.” Struggling with the flowers and with his words, he finally pulled out a stem with a head of many red flowers. “This is a geranium. Scarlet-colored, for my own stupidity.” This he handed to Erestor, and when their fingers accidentally touched, the Counselor gasped.

Glorfindel’s wide blue eyes flashed up at him, but then darted down again as he pulled forth a flower similar to the last, with a larger head but smaller flowers. It was whitish pink. “Um, hydrangea,” Glorfindel finally said as he handed it over. “It can mean different things, like frigidity, which you sometimes display. But for me, it means thank you. Thank you for understanding, and for accepting me for what I am. Uh . . .” Glorfindel rifled through his handful of flowers to pull out a weak-stemmed little thing with shining green leaves and an oddly shaped tiny red flower. “Kennedia,” he said. “Because I marvel at the beauty of your mind. And a calla lily too,” he offered that as well, “because I am equally awed by everything else that’s beautiful about you.” At that last word, Glorfindel looked up, and for a long moment, their eyes met, lost to one another before Glorfindel shook himself awake and returned to his mission.

His movements were clumsy as he handed over the flowers and his words came with great difficulty. But such is the hardship of love, and he overcame it as well he could. “White zinnia, for your goodness. And this belladonna lily means silence. I give it to you because I respect your silence and always have, even if I did a poor job of showing it.” Next, he gave a bunch of weedy white flowers. “Traveler’s joy. They stand for safety. I feel safe with you,” he said simply with a shy shrug.

“Oh!” Glorfindel remarked. “This is an important one. Here is a lotus; it stands for eloquence.” He actually laughed as he handed it over. “I feel far from such myself at the moment, and I think you might at times as well. But this is your language I’m speaking now, and I’ve been reading about it and I’ve been sitting in the garden listening to the flowers and I searched the Valley up and down to find all of these. And I give you the lotus because the eloquence of your language strikes me.” He blushed a bit. “Now, you’ve been fairly quiet,” he observed, not daring to meet Erestor’s black eyes. “So, why don’t I just hand these over and you tell me a little about them.”

Glorfindel next gave a brown-stemmed white flower with five petals. “Mossy saxifrage.”

Erestor took it with wonderment and when Glorfindel waited for him to speak, he awkwardly cleared his throat and whispered, “Affection.”

Glorfindel quickly nodded. He pushed another tiny white flower at Erestor.

The Counselor took it in a shaking hand, adding it to the growing bouquet. “A white violet,” his shaking voice declared. “It means ‘let’s take a chance on happiness.’”

Glorfindel smiled, pleased. Then he offered a bent-over bell-shaped flower, pure white.

“Snowdrop,” Erestor spoke, a bit more confident. “Hope.”

Next was a brown stemmed plant with bunches of four-leafed flowers of a bright fuchsia.

“Mezereon,” Erestor said, somewhat stunned, “is a desire to please.” Before he could lose what nerve was left to him, Erestor asked, “You desire to please me, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel looked at him with those bright blue eyes and held up a red tulip between them.  
 Erestor stared at the flower as though he’d never seen one before.

“Take it,” Glorfindel begged in the smallest of whispers.

“Do you know what it says to me?” Erestor asked.

“I would not give you anything I did not mean with the whole of my heart,” Glorfindel answered. “A red tulip is a declaration of love. I know that. That’s why I’m giving it to you.” He would have smiled at the absurdity of it all, if only Erestor didn’t appear so frightened. “It also says ‘believe me.’ Please, take it.”

He did.

“There’s these, too,” Glorfindel said. “Peach blossoms, because I am your captive. And coriander. It’s, um . . . You know.”

Erestor took the lavender peach blossoms and the weedy white coriander. He stuttered when he explained the spice as, “L-lust.”

There was one more flower left in Glorfindel’s hand. It had a yellow center and was ringed in folding white petals. “You’ve given me jonquil before,” Glorfindel recalled with both fondness and regret in his voice. “It means ‘I desire a return of affection.’ Or more simply, ‘Love me.’” He gave it to Erestor and said, “I do return your affection. I love you.”

Erestor took the jonquil from Glorfindel’s large hand and stared in awe at it.

Then, Glorfindel rested his hand on the handle of Erestor’s tall white door and he said, “Forgive me, but I could not hold them all.” He opened the door and gestured for Erestor to enter.

The Councilor absolutely refused to cry as he entered his own chambers to find them filled with flowers, mostly red ones, but not all. Glorfindel silently closed the door and stepped up close behind him and said, “I did not wish to intrude upon your space, but I wanted to give these to you. Most of them are potted, so they’ll live a long time, especially under your care. Uh, let’s see, there’s red roses and ambrosia, daisies and baby’s breath and red chrysanthemums, arbutus and aster, and orchids and plenty more.” He turned to stare at Erestor, whispering, “And they all represent love.”

Erestor looked at him with tears welling up in dark eyes.

Glorfindel took a breath to steady himself and he declared, “Mine may not have been love at first sight, but love it truly is. Erestor, I wish to see you wear no more creeping willow and mourning bride in your hair, for your love is not forsaken and all is not lost.”

Erestor shook his head in wonder and was hardly aware when one tear finally spilled over onto a blushing cheek.

“Do you cry because you are sad?” Glorfindel asked.

“No,” Erestor told him in a small voice. “I am,” he eventually admitted, “overwhelmed.”

“I understand,” Glorfindel said. Then he smiled broadly, and when he did it seemed as though his entire countenance shone with joy. He pointed a finger straight up.

Erestor tipped his head back to see a shiny-leafed plant with little white berries hanging from the center of the chandelier that he never used. “It’s mistletoe,” he observed.

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed.

“We’re standing under it,” Erestor observed, still staring at the little plant hanging innocently above them.

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed.

“Mistletoe means ‘kiss me,’” Erestor recited.

“All right,” Glorfindel readily agreed, taking Erestor in his arms.

In his shock, Erestor dropped all those carefully gathered flowers, which fell to land on the dark wood floor with soft, flapping thumps all around their feet. Glorfindel’s strong arms wrapped themselves around Erestor’s waist and the poor Counselor’s own arms were held up clumsily out of the way, for he had no idea what to do with them. But as he stared into Glorfindel’s loving eyes, Erestor slowly relaxed until he tentatively rested his hands around Glorfindel’s neck, playing softly with the brilliant golden hair.

Glorfindel bent his head down and whispered, “All right?”

Erestor nodded, his breath hitching in nervous huffs.

Glorfindel smiled and moved closer.

Erestor closed his eyes. It was too real.

Glorfindel ever so gently pressed his lips against those before him.

Erestor’s eyes shot open and he let out a gasp, and Glorfindel smiled against Erestor’s lips. Erestor kept still, as though moving might break the moment, as though the amazing creature kissing him might evaporate like a misty dream should Erestor dare to even breathe. But he let his black eyes fall closed again and simply let himself feel. He felt strong hands gentle on his back and full lips warm against his own. He felt the blood coursing madly through his veins and it seemed as though his heart had dropped into his stomach to beat against his insides like wild, fluttering songbirds. Then he felt a slick wetness tracing his heating lips and he opened his mouth and Glorfindel dipped in as though he were scouting a foreign land and wanted to be sure to measure every inch.

When Erestor grew breathless and desperate, Glorfindel pulled away just enough to whisper against those well-kissed lips, “For one whose words can be so bitter, your tongue is shockingly sweet.”

Erestor moaned and this time it was he who pulled Glorfindel close to map out unfamiliar terrain with an eagerly seeking tongue. Glorfindel was oh-so hot and so sweet and so perfect. It was a kiss full of love and suddenly Erestor broke it off and pulled back and looked with wondering black eyes upon his love.

“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.

“I have found the words,” Erestor told him. “Words have always failed me until now . . . when I no longer need them.”

“Let’s hear them anyway,” Glorfindel whispered.

So Erestor spoke:

“I love you more than words can say  
And more than flowers tell.  
It’s time to throw all words away  
And tell the blooms farewell.  
I love you with all my heart  
And that’s enough for me.  
And as long as we should never part  
In all ways content I’ll be.”

Glorfindel’s smile was beaming and bright and he grabbed Erestor at the waist and lifted him into the air and pulled him close and kissed him with all his passion.

When his feet touched the floor again, Erestor was in a daze, thinking that for a moment he had flown. And then Glorfindel spoke, hot and excited at his ear:

“Since your love cannot be proved in speech  
And flowers don’t suffice,  
Then it’s my turn to thee beseech:  
Let your heart be rid of ice.  
Speak to me with hands and lips  
But not a single sound.  
Let your hands speak to my hips  
And a joyous song be found.”

Erestor gasped as a hot tongue burned an erotic stripe up his ear. Erestor took strong hips in hand and responded:

“I shudder at your flirting  
And am tempted to follow through.  
But danger you are skirting  
Should my passion engulf you.”

Glorfindel let out a low groan when Erestor grabbed his hips and their loins were crushed together. And though his voice was failing, Glorfindel answered:

“Ai! Yes, engulf me you must  
If that’s your impassioned will.  
Never rein your untempered lust  
Or hold back any skill.”

At this rebuff, Erestor fairly growled and he promised:

“I have tried to warn you  
But you will not obey.  
So if in the end I’ve torn you  
It’s ‘cause I got carried away.”

At these last words, Erestor smiled wickedly and pulled Glorfindel along with him as they tore viciously at the hateful clothes that kept skin from meeting skin. They trod upon the forgotten flowers and fell together in a tangled mass of arms and velvet and legs and cotton and hair and sheets and passion.

The sound of tearing seams abruptly split the air and Erestor grinned victoriously, throwing Glorfindel’s ruined shirt away. The fabric sailed noiselessly through the air and landed with a rustle atop the half crushed flowers. They had long forgotten the shirt. Erestor’s teeth assaulted all that beautiful, golden skin, marking it red and indented as his hands possessively pinched their claim on hips and thighs and more.

Glorfindel howled and his large, strong hands gripped Erestor’s waist and he threw the smaller Elf beside him on the bed. Their clothes had been chased away by eager hands and so now Glorfindel was free to explore Erestor’s flushing pale body of smooth planes and delicate angles and subtle muscle. Glorfindel again took those lips and Erestor took his hips and they growled and groaned and grinded together. “Oil,” Glorfindel panted against him. “Nightstand.”

Erestor’s long, pale hand flung out onto the nightstand, nearly knocking aside the bottle he blindly groped for. He forced Glorfindel over again and straddled the blonde Elf’s waist. They stared hard at one another, black eyes drawn blacker with passion and blue rendered a midnight indigo. Then, Erestor held him down and kissed him hard and rocked his taut little ass against Glorfindel’s engorged cock and tugged viciously at his dusky nipples.

Erestor pulled away and Glorfindel’s hands crushed the sheets in a tight grip as he lay panting and needful and covered in passion bruises against the dark blue blanket. The dark-haired Elf took one long leg and threw it over his shoulder before uncorking the precious bottle and pouring a handful of oil. With one hand teasing Glorfindel’s pulsing shaft and the other testing his tight entrance, the blonde felt himself driven completely mad with desire and incoherent with lust as the oil splashed against his belly and on the bedspread and all over Erestor’s arms.

Glorfindel staved off his body’s need with pure force of will, easily accepting the first finger that pierced him and thrusting up with tiny plunges into Erestor’s oiled grip.

When Glorfindel let out the high-pitched, mewling, “Ah, ah, ah,” sound over and over, Erestor sped his progress as quickly as he dared, forcing nearly his whole hand into Glorfindel’s clenching body and squirming his fingers within the secret channel to torment the hidden nub and send Glorfindel to shuddering fits of ecstasy.

Eventually, Erestor pulled away and took up the bottle again and doused his own rock-hard member in the slick stuff, grasping himself to slowly stroke his hand up and down his cock, thick and purple with arousal.

Glorfindel looked down between his spread legs to see that Erestor was wild and beautiful in his passion. The black hair was an unruly mane that fell over his shoulders and down his back in riotous tangles. Pale skin was flushed with color and covered with a fine sheen of salty-sweet sweat. His fingers were wicked and his smile predatory and his eyes were black pools of haunting desire.

Erestor ran oily hands up Glorfindel’s calves, tickled around his knees, and kneaded up strong thighs to grab Glorfindel’s ass in a bruising grip and pull him close.

With one leg slung over Erestor’s shoulder and the other wrapped around the slim waist, Glorfindel pulled him close, squirming as black tendrils of hair teased his oil-splashed stomach and Erestor’s stiff cock prodded his hungry hole.

Erestor’s breathing came in hitching gasps as Glorfindel pulled him forward. He slid his surprisingly strong hands to Glorfindel’s waist and held the writhing body still as he breached the stretched entrance with a guttural grunt.

Time froze in a rose-scented heartbeat and their souls fractured and when the moment passed, their souls reconnected, forever entwined as they called out unintelligible words of love.

Glorfindel finally let loose the reins of his passion, tossing his head and screaming and bouncing forcefully on Erestor’s cock. He reached forward and caught the only part of Erestor he could reach: a sweaty hank of thick black hair. He pulled it hard and Erestor fell upon him.

Erestor gave in to the desire of his body and his spirit, pounding roughly, lovingly into Glorfindel’s body and he surrendered to the claim on his hair, bowing to gnaw at Glorfindel’s neck even as he forced Glorfindel’s leg back against the blonde’s own chest to thrust deeper within him.

Having Erestor within his reach, Glorfindel let go the black coil of hair to take lithe shoulders in a straining, desperate hold.

With inhibitions lost and uncertainty forgotten, they pumped in a driving cadence that echoed the heartbeat of the world as they alternately screamed and begged, clutching and biting and pulling and kissing until the spiral between them coiled too tightly to hold back.

Erestor pushed himself deep as he could into the spasming body, baying like a wild dog as he emptied his seed into his bucking lover. All at once Glorfindel jammed himself down on Erestor’s pulsing cock and Glorfindel’s sanity snapped as he came with a bawling shriek, oblivious to everything but his own and Erestor’s pleasure as stars flashed all around them and the wind roared in their ears and the swell of love surged them up into the heavens where for an endless time they flew.

= = = = =

Erestor awoke to the sunlit room and the smells of happy flowers and also of sex. He opened his eyes to stare at the white canopy. He stretched sore muscles and moaned a bit. Then the sky was blinking above him.

Erestor stared fondly at those infinite blue eyes full of stars. Glorfindel smirked down at him. “Morning, lover.” He laughed when Erestor blushed and then quickly kissed the parted lips. He leaned back to hold a flower before Erestor’s proud nose. The jagged petals were bright scarlet and sharp white. “It’s called Sweet William. Do you know what it means?” Glorfindel asked with the sweetest little grin.

“‘Grant me one smile,’” Erestor quoted to him.

“Yes,” Glorfindel upheld in a whisper, leaning back down. “I feel blessed when you allow me a single smile.”

“You shall have all my smiles,” Erestor promised him, “along with all my passion.”

Glorfindel beamed another brilliant smile, his spirit pulsing with delight as he tucked the weed in Erestor’s hair and kissed his kiss-swollen lips deeply.

= = = = =

Breakfast was an odd affair. They sat at table with Elrond, Lindir, Ninalin, and several other advisors. Conversation was bizarrely lacking and finally Glorfindel leaned over to casually whisper to his Lord, “Elrond, do you know why everyone is staring at us?”

An expression of amusement crossed Elrond’s face for only a moment before he covered it to whisper not so quietly back, “Apparently, you and Erestor were quite . . . vocal. Last night.”

Glorfindel bit back a smile as he glanced beside him to see Erestor freeze with fork near to his mouth, which was half open. Everyone at the table watched with bated breath as Erestor’s pale skin flushed crimson, the blush sneaking up from under his collar to suffuse his cheeks. Black eyelashes fluttered as the Counselor repeatedly blinked, his mouth opening and closing though no words escaped. He set down his fork with a weak hand and stared at his plate, lost for any reaction other than shock and the most acute embarrassment.

Lindir smiled and eventually decided to break the silence with, “I say Glorfindel can you tell me, does that blush go all the way down?”

Erestor’s black eyes shot up, affronted dignity plastered in his expression to glare disbelievingly at the minstrel.

Then Glorfindel opened his mouth. “Now Lindir, that’s hardly appropriate at the dining table.” He took a sip of juice and then said, “Ask me later and I’ll tell you just how far down it goes and how far up ‘it’ rises.”

Erestor’s movement was like a hawk as his head snapped around to glare at Glorfindel with slack-jawed astonishment. Then he sharply backhanded Glorfindel’s shoulder with a growl. Erestor shook his head and everyone stared in amazement as the Chief Counselor smiled subtly to himself and continued to eat his breakfast as though nothing outside the absolute norm had passed a second before.

Ninalin and Elrond smiled conspiratorially at one another as whispers began to travel the hall anew.

Glorfindel also smiled. He ate his food and took Erestor’s hand beneath the table, squeezing affectionately.

“So,” Ninalin curiously asked. “Is this official now?”

Erestor looked at his daughter with a smirk. He turned to face Glorfindel with a pensive expression as though he were thinking it over. Everyone at the table watched them. Whispers and silences rippled down the tables as everyone craned their necks and even stood to see what Erestor would say.

Erestor grabbed Glorfindel, forcefully pulling the blonde up out of his seat and right into the Counselor’s lap and Erestor kissed him and there couldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind that yes, this was ‘official.’

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
